


I Do Love Nothing In The World So Well As You

by BethXP



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Costume Party, Crossdressing, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Piningjolras, Shakespeare References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 09:54:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BethXP/pseuds/BethXP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac organises a fancy dress party for his birthday which leads to a serious case of mistaken identity and revelations to the wrong people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Do Love Nothing In The World So Well As You

“Pick a card, any card.”

Courfeyrac fanned out the set of cards face down in front of himself. Each of his friends took one until he was left with one for himself. 

“On each card is a number,” he explained with the air of a circus ringmaster. “It relates to one of the fourteen boxes you see behind me.” He gestured to the shoeboxes spread out over the furniture and floor in the living room that he and Marius shared. “The box contains the costume you shall be wearing to my party – no complaining about who or what you got, as you can see I’ve made it as fair and random as possible – and the name of the person you shall be impersonating.”

“Why are we doing this again?” Bossuet asked, scratching his head as he struggled to follow the rules of Courfeyrac’s game.

“Because it is my birthday and it will be a lark,” Courfeyrac replied curtly. “Now, also on your cards is the name of the room in which you will be getting changed in. Combeferre and Enjolras have very kindly allowed us to use their flat upstairs as extra space. In a minute we will each take turns to get our box and leave the room, shutting the door behind us so that no one else can see which room we go to. We will then make our way to the room written on our card and get changed. From that moment on we become the name in the box. So for example, if I were to find the name ‘Jehan’, I would come out in my costume reciting poetry at the top of my lungs. Although it would probably have to be Katy Perry lyrics because my poetry knowledge is not up to Jehan level. Sorry love.”

Jehan shrugged.

“I’m happy to be the poet in our relationship.”

Courfeyrac blew Jehan a kiss and then went back to addressing the room. “Does that make sense?”

Everyone nodded. Courfeyrac jumped off the sofa on which he had been standing on and pointed at someone at random, who then collected their box and left the room. Slowly, his friends filed out until he was the only one left. He went over to his box – labelled ‘11’ – and opened the lid. When he saw the name scrawled under the lid in his own hand, he gave a devilish grin. 

*

Enjolras sipped at his Redbull as he shrunk further into the corner of the Musain he had found himself in at the party. He was uncomfortable because no one was who they said they were and he didn’t recognise his friends when they approached him. It was a lot harder than he was expecting to know who everyone was when they were wearing wigs and masks. Although he did suspect the Batman pretending to be Feuilly was Bahorel because he kept going around saying how perfect his ‘wonderful, lovely and let’s face it, pretty damn sexy’ boyfriend Bahorel was. 

Enjolras tugged at a blonde curl that was falling into his eye line and managed to dislodge his mask. He straightened it out again and went back to pulling at the lock of hair. He had made the mistake of curling his wavy hair into tighter ringlets using the curlers from Courfeyrac’s room, which Courfeyrac denied having despite everyone knowing there was no way his hair could be _that_ curly without assistance. He had done this because he had gotten his sister Cosette’s name in his box, and her hair was very similar to his own, just more curly than wavy. He regretted the decision now that the curls kept poking him in the eye. 

But he was soon distracted when a belly dancer approached him. 

“How many days until Halloween, Jack Skeleton?” they asked, nodding to Enjolras’s costume. Being that The Nightmare Before Christmas was Cosette’s favourite film, it was no surprise the costume linked to her that Enjolras had to wear was a Jack Skeleton outfit. At least he hadn’t got the full 1800’s masquerade ball gown which some unfortunate soul had drawn as Enjolras had seen. Or the belly dancing costume standing in front of him. 

Enjolras squinted in the minimal light to try and see if he could tell who he was talking to. They had spoken in a Spanish accent, the voice was male but they had done the whole man-does-a-female-high-pitched-voice kind of thing so he couldn’t tell who it was. The music was loud too so he was unable to recognise the voice. The long thick black hair was clearly a wig, and with the pink nylon fabric covering the majority of the face and the dim light, Enjolras couldn’t make out any distinguishing features. They were, however, wearing glasses, and Enjolras could only think of one person who wore glasses regularly. 

“Combeferre is that you?” The belly dancer laughed and Enjolras took it as a yes. “I’m guessing you are Musichetta?” He got a bow as a response. “I didn’t know you could do a Spanish accent.”

“Eso es porque no soy tu mejor amigo, solo el cínico que te adora.”

Not able to speak Spanish himself, Enjolras frowned, waiting for Combeferre to translate, but he did not.

Behind the belly dancer veil, Grantaire grinned. He had told Enjolras he was not Combeferre, it wasn’t his fault if Enjolras didn’t speak Spanish. He understood why he had made the mistake. He never wore his glasses. Being unable to afford anything remotely fashionable, the frames were a cheap gold colour, the type you only see on old people. He only ever wore contact lenses. Marius had been a member of the group for almost two years before he found out Grantaire did not in fact have twenty-twenty vision. Unfortunately, as he had been getting changed in Courfeyrac’s tiny bathroom before the party, Grantaire had managed to knock one of his contact lenses out of his eye and was unable to find it so he had to take the other one out and put on his horrible glasses if he didn't want to spend the evening effectively blind. 

But the case of mistaken identity was almost worth it, Grantaire thought, and so for a laugh he decided to play along, continuing with his silly Spanish accent to see how far he could take it before Enjolras realised something was up. 

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked Enjolras. Enjolras shuffled on the spot uncomfortably.

“I find it unsettling how everyone is pretending to be someone else.” He rubbed his arm unconsciously. “Courfeyrac seems to be enjoying himself though, so I guess that’s the main thing.”

Courfeyrac’s familiar laughter rippled across the room and Enjolras and Grantaire instinctively sought it out. Grantaire, who had worked out who was who straight away, immediately saw the Harlequin on the other side of the room shaking with laughter as he placed a hand on the Joker. But as he turned back round to Enjolras, he saw that the other was looking in the opposite direction. Grantaire guessed that Enjolras had had trouble working out who everyone was and that was the real reason why he was not enjoying himself. 

“He has certainly put a lot of effort into these costumes,” Enjolras continued as a scarily accurate Saw clown walked past. 

“I think Courfeyrac found or made most of these costumes. And then I-” Grantaire quickly corrected himself, “Grantaire made the masks.”

“Grantaire made these masks?” Enjolras huffed and shook his head. 

“Don’t you like them?” asked Grantaire affronted. “I know they aren’t perfect but there is no need to show such distain.” He was his own biggest critic and every time he looked upon a mask he had made, he cringed at all the mistakes he could see. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt when it was someone else saying his work wasn't good enough.

“Of course I like them, Combeferre,” Enjolras scorned him and Grantaire was reminded of who Enjolras thought he was in that moment, “they are amazing. They are a perfect example of what Grantaire is capable of. He is so talented and yet his own self-doubt stops him from fulfilling his own potential.”

Grantaire was thankful for the mask because he knew he was blushing to his ears. Enjolras had never said so many positive things about him before. 

“I found the address of that gallery you know?” 

Grantaire made a questioning hum sound to encourage Enjolras to continue, although he wasn’t quite sure what he was talking about. 

“I keep wanting to invite Grantaire to come see it with me, to meet the owner that gave me his card, but I’m afraid he’ll think I am insulting him. I just want to help him get the credit he deserves.” He sighed. “But knowing him, he’ll think I am suggesting he is doing nothing with his life and I just want to meddle and control it like I like to control everything.” 

Grantaire thought that was a little harsh, but he was too confused to argue with him. 

“But that’s not it at all! I just want to see him happy…” 

Enjolras’s voice tailed off then and Grantaire knew he should say something Combeferre-y, but he was too stunned to say anything. He had never seen Enjolras show so much care and attention before and he didn’t know where it’s coming from.

When Grantaire did not speak for several minutes, Enjolras changed the subject.

“Who is supposed to be me then?” He swept his arm in a gesture across the room to the various costumes drinking and dancing to the music. 

“Jehan in the Anonymous mask.” Grantaire pointed Jehan out. “Can’t you tell by that ridiculous blonde wig?” He didn’t need to see Enjolras’s face to know the expression of annoyance that would be behind the Jack Skeleton mask. 

Just as Grantaire had pointed Jehan out, the very same person climbed onto one of the tables that had been pushed to the side when Courfeyrac had prepared the Musain for his party. He had already thanked Musichetta profoundly for allowing him to rent the space out for the night. 

“Don’t be so ridiculous, you cannot excuse what he did,” Jehan said very loudly on top of the table. His spoke in an over the top posh accent because he was impersonating Enjolras, although it was a little slurred thanks to the alcohol he had been drinking over the night. 

Courfeyrac then also climbed onto the table and shouted back, “but you must take into consideration the time in which this was set.”

“Hero had the right to clear her name,” Jehan replied. Both their movements were exaggerated and clearly for show. “He was supposedly in love with her and yet he didn’t even give her the chance to defend herself!”

“You must take into consideration the time in which this was set, _Enjolras_ ," Courfeyrac emphasised the name, Grantaire guessed it was to ensure everyone knew who they were pretending to be. "Claudio did nothing wrong by the standards of that era. Perhaps if it had been the twenty-first century then yes, you are welcome to judge him. But Claudio was a good man, if he had grown up in our time he probably would have acted differently.”

“What are they doing?” Enjolras asked. The pair had the attention of the whole room now.

“I think,” Grantaire said with amused surprise, “they are pretending to be u- you and Grantaire. And I believe you are arguing over the behaviour of Claudio in Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing.” They continued to watch with the rest of the audience as Courfeyrac and Jehan invaded each other’s spaces in the heat of their staged argument.

“A good man has morals.”

“Morals are taught, they are not instinctive.”

“Claudio had no right to treat Hero like property.”

“Unfortunately, in those times wives _were_ considered property, despite how wrong it was.”

There was silence as Courfeyrac and Jehan stood nose to nose glaring at each other in true Enjolras and Grantaire style. There was a beat, and then they were all over each other, kissing obscenely with their masks discarded at their feet. The audience erupted into applause, much to Grantaire’s horror.

“I am going to kill him,” he said, just at the same time as Enjolras said the same thing. “Wait, why are you going to kill him?” he asked Enjolras. _He_ had a perfectly good reason. Courfeyrac, like anyone who wasn’t Enjolras, was well aware of how besotted Grantaire was with him. That little scene was clearly orchestrated to embarrass Grantaire as much as possible. Surely to Enjolras it was just Courfeyrac and Jehan having a bit of fun and then kissing like boyfriends do.

“To torment me,” Enjolras replied through gritted teeth. Grantaire stared at him and through the mask he saw Enjolras roll his eyes. “I told him.”

“Told him what?” 

“That I have feelings for Grantaire.” 

Grantaire couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t breathe. Hell, how could he? He just stood, frozen and stared at Enjolras. When he was certain he had not mistaken what he had heard he let out a very quiet, “what?”

Enjolras huffed again and folded his arms across his chest defensively. 

“Yes I know I’ve forbidden you from mentioning it since I told you but Courfeyrac caught me unawares.” He fiddled with the curl Grantaire had found him pulling at when he first approached him. “I…” He swallowed, took a deep breath, and tried again. “I overheard Grantaire talking to Gavroche one night when we were at Éponine’s. Gavroche had been caught skipping school and Grantaire was telling him how, yes, big school is scary but you shouldn’t skive because you aren’t going to make friends if you don’t go. And hearing him talk about how important education was had me…” He frantically waved his arms in the air to try and express the mess of emotions Grantaire had caused him. “And then Courfeyrac caught me eavesdropping and he badgered me until I admitted my feelings for Grantaire. And so he’s obviously decided to put on this little show to embarrass me.” His head suddenly jerked back to Grantaire. “Wait, why are you going to kill him?”

“Same reason,” Grantaire said in a rush.

“Going to give him the old ‘Ferre death stare?” Enjolras joked. It was then that Grantaire remembered Enjolras thought he was Combeferre and he panicked because Enjolras had just told him something he wasn’t supposed to know. He tried to subtly back away, but Enjolras did not miss that he was trying to leave.

“Where are you going?”

“To give Courf’ the death stare,” he said lamely and then he turned and ran off to find Combeferre in the crowd.

Grantaire knew Combeferre was in the storm trooper costume so it didn’t take him long to find him amongst the array of characters in the room.

“’Ferre, ‘Ferre!” he called, grabbing hold of Combeferre’s shoulders and pulling him away from Joly and Marius’s conversation. 

“I am not Combeferre, I am Marius,” said the storm trooper dryly. Grantaire would have laughed but he didn’t have the patience for this. 

“This is serious Combeferre, I need you to swap costumes with me.”

“What, why?”

“Because Enjolras has just admitted something to me that he never in a million years would want me to know because he thought I was you!”

Combeferre lifted his mask so that it balanced on the top of his head. Grantaire gave him the same courtesy of unclipping the veil covering his face.

“What?”

Grantaire winced.

“That he has feelings for me.”

Combeferre made a choking sound.

“ _What?!_ ”

“Yeah.”

Combeferre grabbed hold of Grantaire’s shoulders and looked him square in the eye.

“You’re telling me that he was willing to talk about his crush?”

“Er… yes?”

“And I _missed_ it?!” He groaned loudly and scrunched his eyes closed like he was in pain. “Damn it! Give me you costume!” He gestured hurriedly for Grantaire to get out of his belly dancer outfit. 

“Wait what? So now you suddenly want to swap costumes?”

“Grantaire, I have been waiting for two months for an opening like this. Enjolras forbade me to discuss his feelings for you when he told me. Every time I tried to gently bring them up he would knock me back flat. I respected his wishes but it’s been _killing_ me!”

“So…” Grantaire dragged out the ‘ooo’ sound, eyeing Combeferre suspiciously. “You’re telling me he really _does_ have feelings for me?”

“Well yeah,” Combeferre said like it was obvious. “What did you think he meant when he straight up admitted it to you?”

Grantaire scratched the back of his head.

“I thought he might have realised it was me and was trying to freak me out? He kept mumbling something about a gallery?”

Combeferre must have understood what he meant because his eyes bulged.

“Did he find out where it is?”

“Yes?”

“Excellent,” Combeferre exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

“Combeferre?”

“Yes?”

“What’s this about a gallery?”

“Ah yes. You know how Enjolras’s parents have a load of fancy friends?” Grantaire nodded. “Well one of them is an art collector. He owns a gallery on the other side of town. He saw that,” Combeferre stopped midsentence, his eyes bulging again. “Oh wait you don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?” Grantaire was beyond confused now. How much had he missed?

“Remember last year we did that auction to raise money for Haiti survivors? And you donated your painting of the view from the upstairs of the Musain, overlooking the river? And an anonymous phone bidder bought it?” 

“…Yes,” Grantaire said slowly.

“Yeah that was Enjolras.” Grantaire gaped at Combeferre. “He had it hanging in his bedroom at home. He has always been a huge fan of your artwork, even if he does come across as a bit pushy sometimes. He just wants you to reach your full potential." 

"That's what Enjolras said." 

"Right. So with this painting, he couldn’t have it in his university accommodation in case you saw it. But his parents found it in his room and liked it and so they had it put in the living room as the centre piece. This gallery owner friend of theirs saw it and liked it. He asked about the artist and gave Enjolras his card. He suggested that Enjolras should bring you along to the gallery with some of your other work and he would consider showcasing it in his gallery.”

“I…no…wait…no…what?”

But Combeferre had clearly decided they had talked for long enough.

“For the love of all things Grantaire, give me your costume!” He dragged Grantaire into the toilet and quickly they swapped clothes. Combeferre explained he had been Marius all night and he acted innocent at all innuendos made by anybody. Grantaire in turn told him that he had been Musichetta all night, telling people not to trash the Musain and giving impromptu belly dances for those who mocked his outfit. 

“Oh and by the way, you can now speak Spanish,” he added before Combeferre rolled his eyes and disappeared to find Enjolras. 

Grantaire wandered round for a while until he found himself in Courfeyrac’s company. Courfeyrac was more than a little bit drunk and was very confused. 

“I thought you were ‘Ferre, but then you weren’t, you were a belly dancer. Is there two of you? One is enough I think. A belly dancing storm trooper.” He then giggled and took a swig from the beer he was holding.

“What?” Grantaire said, not understanding a word Courfeyrac had said.

“Who are you?” Courfeyrac asked, inspecting Grantaire’s mask with the intensity only a drunk person could have.

“Grantaire. I mean, Marius. I am Marius. See how I am so desperately in love with Cosette.” Grantaire blushed when he realised who was pretending to be Cosette on the other side of the room. 

The irony was missed on Courfeyrac. He pulled a puzzled expression.

“Combeferre has just come up to me and told me he would scold me for the scene I just made, but as something good may have come from it, he is not going to say anything. But if Enjolras asks, he gave me a good telling off and I am very very sorry for what I did.”

“What about what you did to me?” Grantaire said, offended. “Were you deliberately trying to out my feelings for him?”

“Well yeah,” Courfeyrac said blatantly. He slung an arm around Grantaire’s shoulders. “God, the unresolved sexual tension between you two has gotten ridiculous. Jehan and I thought we might give you some ideas on how _else_ you could end your arguments other than with one of you storming off.”

“When you are sober, you are going to realise how much of a bad idea that was and then you are going to live in fear of how I am going to get you back.” 

Courfeyrac mumbled something that sounded like ‘pfft yeah whatever’ but Grantaire knew that Courfeyrac remembered everything from when he was drunk, and so that threat would haunt him for weeks. 

Courfeyrac dug his phone out of his pocket and pressed the button to light up the lock screen.

“It’s time,” he exclaimed, making Grantaire jump. He rushed over to the DJ and Grantaire watched as he took the microphone. The music that filled the room slowly got quieter and everyone turned to see Courfeyrac standing once more on the tables. Grantaire heard a tut beside him coming from Frankenstein’s monster. _Ah, that’s who Musichetta is,_ he thought to himself. 

Courfeyrac tapped the mic twice before speaking.

“To all my wonderful guests, thank you for coming to my party, for the gifts, and the hilarious caricatures you made of each other. We are coming to the end of the night which means it is time to remove those masks. In five, four, three, two, one!” 

Everyone chanted down with him and removed their masks at Courfeyrac’s scream of ‘now’. There was a collective cheer and the music started up again as balloons fell from the ceiling. 

Grantaire found himself in a balloon fight with Bahorel and Bossuet, who’s balloons kept popping on his Elphaba costume. He was about to bring Joly into play when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Thinking it was a threat from Bahorel, he raised his balloon and spun round ready to strike, but he froze, balloon in the air, when he saw Enjolras standing before him. 

“Can we talk?”

Grantaire nodded, lowering his arm slowly when Enjolras glanced at the balloon questioningly. 

They made their way to the corner of the Musain furthest away from the speakers in the hopes of being able to hear each other without having to shout. Grantaire waited expectantly, worried about what Combeferre may or may not have told Enjolras. He watched as Enjolras produced a small white card from his pocket and showed it to him. Grantaire read the name written on it.

_M. Santerre_

_Santerre’s Art Gallery_

“Santerre is a friend of my parents. He owns this art gallery not far from here and he saw one of your pieces and liked it.” Grantaire noted how Enjolras didn’t admit _how_ Santerre saw his artwork. “He’d like to meet you and see more of your work. I could introduce you. That is, if you want. I don’t want you to feel like you have to, this is completely your decision, I just thought you might be interested. But if you’re not then that’s fine too.”

As Enjolras got more and more flustered, Grantaire felt more and more guilty about how he had deceived Enjolras.

“It was me,” he finally blurted out. 

“I’m sorry?”

Silently Grantaire cursed himself.

“In the belly dancer costume. It was me. Not Combeferre. We swapped costumes. I,” he let out a pained sigh, “I know. I am so sorry I deceived you. It was a joke, I didn’t expect you to divulge your secrets to me. I persuaded Combeferre to change costumes with me to save you the embarrassment of it all.”

“Oh,” Enjolras said. His whole body stiffened and retracted into itself. “I guess that makes sense,” he said, a little dazed. “Combeferre just came over and asked if I had the address of this gallery, which I thought was odd considering I had just told him – you – that I had. Right, so, you know.” He nodded to himself and managed to blink himself out of his zombie state. “Look, it’s been two months and you haven’t known. I can go back to that if that’s what you want. I understand you’ve never shown any feelings for me. I don’t know why I thought you might like to go to this gallery with me anyway, I’ve never really understood art. You can go on your own. Here, take his card.” He shoved the business card into Grantaire’s hand. 

Grantaire had been staring though all this rambling because his brain was having trouble processing what his was saying. Enjolras putting the card into his hand was like a trigger and he snapped out of it.

“Wait, this gallery thing, was this you trying to ask me out on a date?”

“I… well… yes kind of. I mean, it doesn’t have to be. That’s fine too. I just thought, us two, going somewhere together, alone. That counts as a date right? God I am so useless at this.” He ran his fingers through his curled hair as the word vomit continued. “I just thought, you liked art and so you might like to see this gallery. Hell, have you been already? You’ve probably been already haven’t you? And here I was thinking I had done something to show you how I feel and I’ve probably just shown you how little I know about-”

Enjolras’s rant was cut short when Grantaire pressed his lips to Enjolras’s. He had decided that the only way to shut Enjolras up was to take drastic action and this was all he could think of. When he felt Enjolras’s fingers make their way to the back of his neck to bring him closer, he knew it was not unwanted. And by god did it feel good. 

“It worked!” screamed Courfeyrac at the top of his lungs. Grantaire and Enjolras broke apart to see everyone in the room looking at them, cheering and whooping. Grantaire couldn’t help the smile spreading across his face. He took Enjolras’s hand in his and led him in a dramatic bow. Enjolras followed his lead as the cheering continued. 

“Yes yes, thank the heavens for Shakespeare,” Grantaire said sarcastically to his audience. “Now if you'd kindly fuck off, I’m busy.”

Enjolras didn’t argue when Grantaire pulled him in for another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Story was originally inspired by Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing, from which the title of this fic was derived, although it did go on a bit of a tangent. Just if anyone is interested, this is how I had planned out all the costumes.  
> Enjolras was pretending to be Cosette and was in a Jack Skeleton costume.  
> Grantaire was pretending to be Musichetta and was in a belly dancer costume.  
> Courfeyrac was pretending to be Grantaire and was in a Harlequin costume.  
> Jehan was pretending to be Enjolras and was in an Anonymous costume.  
> Combeferre was pretending to be Marius and was in a storm trooper costume.  
> Cosette was pretending to be Bahorel and was in a Joker costume.  
> Marius was pretending to be Courfeyrac and was in a unicorn costume.  
> Feuilly was pretending to be Combeferre and was in a knight costume.  
> Bahorel was pretending to be Feuilly and was in a Batman costume.  
> Joly was pretending to be Jehan and was in a full masquerade ball dress costume.  
> Bossuet was pretending to be Eponine and was in an Elphaba (from Wicked) costume.  
> Musichetta was pretending to be Joly and was in a Frankenstein's monster costume.  
> Eponine was pretending to be Bossuet and was in a Saw clown costume.  
> Oh and "Eso es porque no soy tu mejor amigo, solo el cínico que te adora" hopefully translates to "That's because I'm not your best friend, just your adoring cynic." (Thank you to crazylovelylittlefool on tumblr and LesMisgayrables on AO3 for the translation)


End file.
